


Fire and Ice

by m3aculpa



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Bondage, Community: glee_kink_meme, Humiliation, M/M, Off-screen Child Death, Off-screen Child Sexual Abuse, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m3aculpa/pseuds/m3aculpa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck is the homicide detective stumped by a case. Kurt is the FBI profiler the department decides to consult. Their feud is legendary, but nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Fire and Ice 1/3  
>  **Fandom:** Glee  
>  **Beta:** [david_of_oz](http://david-of-oz.livejournal.com)  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Kurt, Puck, Tanaka, Mercedes, Finn, Rachel, Puck/Kurt  
>  **Warnings:** OOC due to circumstances crucial to the fic, bondage, dirty talk, humiliation, non-graphic discussion of murders, non-graphic discussion about sexual assault and murder of children (can still be triggery), language.  
>  **Word count:** 3439/7823 words  
>  **Prompt:** Written for this prompt, which is a story in itself, at the glee_kink_meme.  
>  **Summary:** Puck is the homicide detective stumped by a case. Kurt is the FBI profiler the department decides to consult. Their feud is legendary, but nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors...  
>  **a/n:** If you're afraid to read WIP:s by me, you should know that all parts of this is finished. Concrit is welcome! On Santana: I wrote large part of this pre-season 2, so some revelations about my girl Santana won't be in here.

  


**Fire and Ice**

_Some say the world will end in fire  
Some say it will end in ice   
From what I've tasted of desire   
I hold with those who favour fire   
But if it had to perish twice   
I know enough of hate   
that destruction of ice is also great   
and would suffice._

Detective Noah “Puck” Puckerman hated involving the FBI as much as the next cop. But he had realised that this time it was necessary. He hated to admit it, but he was stumped. And he believed that profiler crap about as much as he believed in tarot card reading, but he had to do _something_. Five victims in a year, which was the time it had taken them to connect the dots. It had taken four months between the first known victim and the next. But the time between victims had become shorter and shorter until they happened with mere weeks between them.

Special agent Kurt Hummel fit almost every prejudice that Puck had about the FBI. He wore a suit that had probably cost more than Puck’s monthly salary. Expensive sunglasses concealed his eyes. His hair was styled so that not a single hair was out of place. And the hand that grasped Puck’s was small and soft. The nails were neatly cut and looked like they’d been manicured.

His voice made Puck’s raise his eyebrows.

‘Dude, didn’t your voice break?’ he thought of asking.

When he realised that he’d said it aloud, it was because his supervisor Ken Tanaka looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Hummel’s face didn’t change. Maybe his eyes became a fraction colder.

‘Puckerman——!’ Tanaka started in, but Hummel cut him off.

‘Your mouth should consult your brain before you speak,’ he said simply; and his lips were upturned, but he wasn’t smiling. ‘At least you don’t need brains to drive me to the crime-scene.’

That started the entire thing off and led to the legendary feud between them. Puck drove him to the crime scene that day. He watched Hummel move around the scene. The smaller man would walk around the scene seemingly aimlessly. He’d crouch down and study something. When Puck walked over to see what it was, he could see nothing. Expressing this thought made Hummel look at him like he was an idiot, so Puck stopped commenting. He answered Hummel’s questions as evenly as he could. But Hummel didn’t even thank him and left him fuming from the sharpness of half of his comments.

Kurt even laid down where the body had been. He mimicked the position uncannily and laid still, staring up at the sky. Seeing him with his legs spread apart obscenely, the way the jeans outlined his crotch, made Puck turn away to hide his sudden arousal. The FBI agent might have the personality of an ice-queen, but he was seriously hot. Maybe he needed a good fuck to get him off his high horse.

The profiler sprang back to his feet and nodded to himself. He brushed down his suit (it had to have cost more than Puck’s monthly salary) and wrinkled his nose at the dirt. Puck wanted to ask him if he was done, but before he could the brunet had started to walk off. Halfway to the car, he stopped and cocked an eyebrow as if asking if Puck was coming.

The detective followed him in fuming silence.

‘So, what?’ he couldn’t hold back on the way to the station. ‘You decided to study human behaviour in the hope that you'd learn our ways or some shit? Take your findings back to your home planet?’

‘Comparing me to an alien,’ the profiler responded in a droll voice. ‘How original. Truly your wit is astounding.’

Puck’s grip around the wheel tightened until his knuckles whitened. He knew that Tanaka would frown upon him half–strangling the FBI profiler. It would definitely sour relations between the department and the FBI. Though nobody would probably blame him.

‘He’s killed before,’ Hummel stated quietly. ‘Probably across the state line so it hasn’t been picked up before. He’s too practised, too secure in his kill, to be a complete beginner. He is a man on a mission and he won’t stop of his own volition. In fact, if confronted, he’s likely to commit suicide by cop.’ Puck listened, realising that he was at work and not wanting to interrupt, and glanced at Hummel. It must be a rough profile, since he wasn’t consulting cases and books like profilers normally did. But it was almost eerie the way Hummel spoke.

There was a tight smile on his lips when he continued, ‘He has a definite type – small and brunet, effeminate rent boys,’ he murmured. ‘But he will kill somebody else if the need arises and he can’t find a victim that fits. There are probably more than we know of. There’s a definite sexual component to this murder, but he can’t admit his sexual desires to himself so he doesn’t rape them. His denial is the reason why he kills; he can’t admit to desiring them, so he starts cleaning up. Rids the world of them and himself of the temptation of acting on that desire.’

It seemed like Hummel was talking more to himself than to Puck. But he found himself listening intently. Those blue-green eyes were surprisingly pretty, now that the sunglasses weren’t hiding them. Puck chased such thoughts away, because Hummel was cold as ice. Attractive, yes, but a really bad idea. A worse idea than pissing off Santana Lopez, who had stolen his car to run away with her on–off lover Brittany for a nice, she’d assured him when she returned the car, vacation.

‘He’s probably in his late twenties, early thirties, and he kills them somewhere else. He probably has a secluded place where he brings his victims and kills them. The lack of posing of the bodies, the way they’ve been discarded like garbage in plain view, shows us that he doesn’t feel any remorse. He leaves them as a warning to others in public places, but he knows when there will be few or no people in the area. So he’s lived here for a while.’

He quieted and Puck didn’t expect anything else. When Hummel spoke again, he barely suppressed a jump. ‘He has his own car, probably an American–made SUV. Big enough to transport his victims,’ he said (he was starting to seriously creep Puck out). ‘He will have a record of assaulting gay men similar in appearance to the victims. I imagine he’s been married, but his wife divorced him last year when their sex life became unbearable. That’s the stressor.’

Puck decided that not only was Kurt Hummel a frigid bitch, he was also seriously creepy. That feeling was only increased when he got the written profile and realised that, while polished, it was almost word for word the profile Hummel had been muttering to himself in the car.

So, which nickname was more fitting – Ice Princess or Spooky Hummel? Either way, Puck hoped that he would never have to see Hummel again.

They caught the killer, of course. Everything Hummel had said in his profile turned out to be true. Particularly the part about suicide by cop. He’d almost taken Puck down with him. His arm was in a sling and the crazy was dead. Clean head-shot. No mess to complicate the paper work. Clearly self-defence.

Kurt had cornered him and called him an idiot. Puck had been tired, cranky and in pain. Kissing Kurt had never been in any plan. Kissing him with bruising force did shut him up nicely, though. He had not planned to fuck Kurt against the wall in the men’s room either. But he had.

Awkward didn’t begin to describe it. Though he’d never had sex with a man before, there was little Puck hadn’t done in the bedroom so he knew the workings of anal sex. He always carried around condoms and a bottle of lube – because he never knew when he and Lopez were back on again. It was Hummel’s cock that was the problem. He had refused to touch it that first time. Instead it had been trapped between them when he fucked Hummel, brutally and fast. The little bitch scratched and bit and he moaned like a whore.

He called him that. It made the trapped cock twitch between them. Calling him a cock-slut and a dirty bitch who was gagging for it made him whine and whimper in need. When he angled his cock and hit that _spot_ accidentally, while telling him that he was so eager for it he was a whore who wouldn’t even ask to be paid for services rendered, the profiler came. He was freakishly silent when he came. Puck worked for a while before spending himself inside Hummel’s tight body.

He had gotten Hummel’s shirt off somehow and when they’d come down from their high, Hummel turned to re-dress. It had almost made Puck feel bad to see the red discoloration on the smooth pale skin, because he knew that it would bruise.

Then Hummel turned and his face was unnaturally blank. Freak. Puck couldn’t stand him.

He intended it to be a one-off, but when they met next, they ended up fucking at his place. Then the time after that he bent Hummel over his own ridiculously expensive couch and fucked him dry. All the while calling him vile names.

Whenever they needed to, they called each other up to have sex. It was never tender between them. No gentle kisses exchanged or promises made. Puck kept up his on-off relationship with Santana Lopez, and Hummel … well, Puck had no idea what Hummel was up to. All he knew was that Hummel liked to be demeaned in bed. He liked being called dirty and a whore and he liked being tied up and spanked. It was seriously fucked up, but it was also incredibly fucking hot.

Despite the fact that it was really, really messed up, they kept at it for over a year. By then Hummel had become Kurt without Puck having any idea how it happened. When he was taking all of his frustration and hate out on Kurt’s body, Kurt would come undone. He would be alive.

He didn’t want to hold Kurt’s hand. He didn’t want to whisper sweet nothings into his ear. He didn’t want to say 'I love you, Kurt', to him. But he thought he might be falling for him. He did want him to stay the night. He wanted him to stop slipping out of bed the moment they were done. He wanted him to stay – not necessarily cuddling, but at least sharing an awkward morning-after breakfast.

He wanted to breach it with Kurt, after tonight. Maybe they could be more than a pair of rough fuck-buddies.

Kurt didn’t say anything when he entered Puck’s apartment. He just pushed Puck up against the door and kissed him roughly. His forehead was furrowed and he didn’t exactly look as if he was enjoying himself. Puck turned the tables on him and slammed him into the wall. That made Kurt moan and clutch harder at him.

His pupils were blown when they broke the kiss. He gave a dirty moan and obscene wink.

‘Tie me up,’ he moaned. ‘Beat my ass until it’s red. I want you to.’

Puck obeyed him, because otherwise Kurt would be gone for the night. If he didn’t get his way, he’d leave. Kurt didn’t want any safe words or sweet talking in bed. He was sure that Puck would be able to decide when enough was enough.

‘Shut up, bitch!’ he snapped and Kurt moaned loudly in response.

He grabbed Kurt’s arm and twisted it up behind his back. The back of Kurt’s neck flushed red. Arousal tended to make the pale skin pink and warmer than before. He pressed his body against Kurt’s, cock hard against his ass. Roughly he pushed Kurt into the bedroom. Their surroundings were lost to them. He shoved Kurt down onto the bed and growled,

‘Get naked.’

Kurt undressed rapidly. He shed his clothes onto the floor, not even attempting to fold them. The first time, he’d tried, but Puck had ridiculed him for it. It had made Kurt’s cock twitch, but he’d turned his face away. Puck had quickly learnt to not mention his clothes. Weird line, but there it was. The one thing that would make Kurt really uncomfortable.

Kurt was finally naked and Puck felt his cock throb. He pawed it impatiently and gave his next order harshly,

‘On your knees, slut. Hands forward, against the headboard.’

There wasn’t any hesitation as Kurt did as he was told. He balanced on his knees as he reached out to wrap his hands around the headboard. Puck reached out for his night-table drawer and grabbed the rope in there. Quickly he looped it around the headboard (metal with holes where he could slip the rope through) and Kurt’s wrists. He pulled it tight and tied knots that Kurt wouldn’t be able to undo.

Kurt didn’t want to be tied up with silk scarves or soft ropes. He wanted coarse ropes that would dig in and leave marks. If they made him bleed, so much the better. Puck had quickly learnt how tight he should tie them; what was too tight and what was too loose. Too loose would mean a bitchy, cutting comment. Too tight would mean that Kurt got off on it, but Puck had been beyond horrified the time he’d seen Kurt’s fingers start to turn blue.

Once Kurt was secured, Puck backed away slightly to admire his handiwork. His gaze slid down to that firm, round ass that presented itself to him. He smoothed a hand over it, fingers sliding in between the cheeks to probe at Kurt’s hole. He found it moist and loose. His cock _jumped_ at the thought of Kurt fucking himself open for him.

‘So fucking eager,’ he murmured. ‘Just can’t wait to have my fat cock splitting you apart, can you? Did you fuck yourself open, panting at the thought of it? You’re such a fucking cock-slut, _Kurt_. Look at you, can barely wait for me to fuck you.’

He bit into Kurt’s neck and Kurt cried out. The original plan had been to spank Kurt’s ass until it was cherry red, but Puck was too impatient. He shoved four fingers into Kurt’s body. A choked noise came from Kurt. His inner walls twitched and his hole flexed against Puck’s knuckles. For a moment, he thought he might have hurt him. But Kurt shoved himself back onto Puck’s fingers.

Puck grinned a wolf’s grin and started to roughly fuck Kurt with his fingers. He set a fast, rhythm. It only slowed when he spread his fingers slightly inside of him. Kurt was murmuring and pleading. He’s moving, bucking into the rocking fingers. His skin was flushed and there was a sheen of sweat to his skin. He seemed almost feverish. Puck lowered his head and licked a long stripe along his neck. He felt the pulse thudding beneath the skin and tasted the saltiness on it. He bit down and Kurt shouted, cursed, making death-threats if he didn’t fuck him now.

Puck tore out his fingers and moved back. Kurt’s back was heaving with the force of his breathing. His hole stayed open. Puck could see some of the lubricant starting to dribble out. It was rather hot. But he didn’t touch him. Kurt started to twist to see if he’d left. He looked at Puck and then lowered his head.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Please, please, fuck me. I want your cock. I want you to split me open. Please, please, give it to me.’

Puck nodded even if his fuck-buddy couldn’t see it. He moved in between Kurt’s legs and Kurt spread them even wider apart. He thrust his ass up into the air, offering himself up so eagerly for Puck. Puck couldn’t wait. He grabbed his dick and lined it up. He leaned over Kurt and thrust in with one, smooth move. Kurt cried out. His insides clenched around him and his ass bucked up into the thrust. Puck placed his hand on his neck and pressed his head down. Kurt couldn’t look up or move his head, no matter how hard he tried.

Puck rolled his hips and brutally slammed back into Kurt. He almost wanted to see those pink lips as they cursed and pleaded and _moaned_. He started fucking him in earnest, leaning over Kurt to whisper into his ear,

‘Take it, take it all,’ and he started growling. ‘Take it, you dirty bitch. You filthy cock-slut. You’d die if you didn’t get cock, wouldn’t you? You’d let anybody who wanted do you up against the wall, over the couch, in plain view of everyone, wouldn’t you? You filthy fucking whore.’

Kurt moaned with each insult and shoved himself back even more desperately on Puck’s cock. Puck grabbed his hips hard to keep him still. He hissed into his ears,

‘I decide how much you get, bitch. So keep fucking still.’

He fucked him hard and fast. Neither would last long and the closer Puck got, the filthier and more demeaning his insults got. Kurt groaned and panted. He came with a shout after a particularly vicious insult and it was so fucking fucked-up. Puck couldn’t hold it when Kurt’s ass clamped down on him so hard it almost hurt. He emptied himself into Kurt’s body and collapsed against his back.

Like always afterwards, Kurt let him rest against his back for a moment. Then he’d start to squirm impatiently. It was clear that he didn’t want to stay. Puck would hurry up and untie him, even though he was feeling so sleepy now that he just wanted to stay against Kurt’s back. His fingers were clumsy. It felt like his brain had leaked out through his cock. There was a vague sense of shame, of being used, but he ignored it. He smoothed a hand over Kurt’s back, before resuming untying him.

‘You know,’ he murmured as he untied him and Kurt turned his head to look at him, ‘this whole fuck buddy thing … maybe we could try the buddy part?’ He finally successfully loosened the last knot. ‘You don’t have to rush off like the flat’s on fire. You’re allowed to stay the night, if you want to.’

Kurt’s face closed off. All emotions drained away. It was frightening to see. He’d looked … not happy, but content for a moment. The moment the knot came loose, he backed away. Puck felt something knot in his stomach. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Still not saying a word, Kurt started to put his clothes on hurriedly. His movements were jerky and his back was stiff. Something told Puck that he’d fucked up royally. But Kurt wouldn’t say anything and he was almost through the door when Puck regained his ability to speak.

‘Are you fucking leaving now?!’ Puck asked in complete disbelief. ‘Can’t you stay … so we can talk about it or something? Fuck if I know.’

‘You’re such a fucking girl, Puckerman,’ Hummel sneered violently. ‘And no, I won’t stay and talk. No, you don’t get to do this. Things were working out perfectly fine!’

‘Fine?’ Puck exploded. ‘When were things going fine, _Kurt_? When I was beating your ass black and blue? When I was calling you a cock-slut and a whore and a kinky bitch? When I was fucking you dry so _hard_ you started bleeding? _When_ were things fine, huh? It’s always been messed up!’

Kurt grit his teeth and turned away. He refused to say a thing. Puck felt how all the anger just went out of him and he deflated. He covered his face with his palm, feeling the headache build, and asked wearily,

‘Jesus fuck, Kurt,’ he almost sighed before sharpening his voice when the anger took hold again. ‘What the fuck happened to you, huh? Who made you like this and are you really this fucked up?’

Kurt whirled around with eyes narrowed in anger. His entire frame vibrated in anger and high spots of fury rose on his cheeks. His eyes glittered with malice.

‘You know what, Puckerman?’ he said, deceptively sotto vocé. ‘Yes, I am, actually. I am this fucked up.’

He flipped his hair and snorted. ‘But get off your high horse. You don’t get to be so self-righteous. This fucked-upness of mine? You’ve certainly benefited from it. And you weren’t complaining when I sucked you off and almost choked on your fucking cock.’

He backed away and grabbed hold of the door.

‘You have no right to demand anything from me, Puckerman,’ he murmured quietly. ‘It was just fucking and we both got off, so hallelujah, problem solved. Too bad you couldn’t stay with the program.’

He slammed the door on his way out. Puck couldn’t find it in himself to follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published unbeta'd in my LJ: May 21st 2011.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Fire and Ice 2/3  
>  **Fandom:** Glee  
>  **Beta:** [david_of_oz](http://david-of-oz.livejournal.com)  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Kurt, Puck, Tanaka, Mercedes, Finn, Rachel, Puck/Kurt  
>  **Warnings:** OOC due to circumstances crucial to the fic, bondage, dirty talk, humiliation, non-graphic discussion of murders, non-graphic discussion about sexual assault and murder of children (can still be triggery), language.  
>  **Word count:** 2749/7823 words  
>  **Prompt:** Written for [this](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/1414.html?thread=5273478) prompt, which is a story in itself, at the [glee_kink_meme](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/).  
>  **Summary:** Puck is the homicide detective stumped by a case. Kurt is the FBI profiler the department decides to consult. Their feud is legendary, but nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors...  
>  **a/n:** Sorry about the delay. I've been working on an essay and therefore been slow to reply to my beta.

  


**Fire and Ice**

_Some say the world will end in fire  
Some say it will end in ice   
From what I've tasted of desire   
I hold with those who favour fire   
But if it had to perish twice   
I know enough of hate   
that destruction of ice is also great   
and would suffice._

Puck started missing Kurt almost immediately after he left. He missed his body, the cutting insults (and wasn’t that pathetic?) and, and, just _him_. But he wasn’t the one to come crawling back like a dog. He kept up his fling with Lopez and flirted with anything that moved. Time managed to pass slowly and he didn’t see Kurt again until the next consult he provided. Even then all their exchanges were terse or insulting. Kurt seemed decidedly unruffled by the break off of whatever it was they had. It made Puck so angry. He still couldn’t take his eyes off Kurt.

Things reached their boiling point when Kurt was talking to another detective; Puck’s eyes wouldn’t focus on who it was. He was smiling. It was a small smile, a pretty smile, a genuine smile. The kind of smile that Kurt had never given to Puck. The kind of smile he hadn’t wanted until he realised how much it hurt to never have it offered to him.

But that anonymous detective didn’t know a thing about Kurt. He didn’t know the way Kurt would scream and howl and scratch and bite during sex. He didn’t know what it was like to see Kurt come undone and become human. Or how it felt, after having seen all that hidden warmth, to see all that ice and armour slide back in place until Kurt was a moving ice statue.

‘So you were just using me.’

He didn’t know how he ended up standing in front of Kurt. He could see Kurt’s face blanch, the panicked side glance to the others in the room, but he didn’t care. He grabbed his arm and dragged him in. Kissing him roughly, he broke free and gave him a shake. Kurt’s body followed the movement with no resistance. He was too shocked to react.

‘Is that it?’ Puck asked, squeezing Kurt’s arm hard enough to bruise. ‘You just used me to scratch an itch, to feel human, and then what? Go back to being ice princess Kurt Hummel who nothing fucking touches and you don’t have to feel like the rest of us do …’

He only realised that he might have gone too far, when Kurt wrenched lose from his hold. He should have looked furious, but his face was strangely blank and void of feeling. His eyes, though, were so cold. Those pretty, _pretty_ blue eyes looked like ice and winter and that was the worst kind of rage. Puck only belatedly realised that Kurt hated public confrontation. The ice-cold rage almost made him take a step back.

He thought that Kurt would hit him, but he didn’t. He did something far worse: he started talking. He started picking Puck apart in front of a room full of people. Unravelling the threads that kept him together. The little secrets, his insecurities and his weaknesses, they were revealed to the room.

‘You're smart, I know because I've seen you in the interrogation room and I've looked at your scores,’ Kurt said and his voice was surprisingly even, dipping into scorn when he continued, ‘But I bet you never applied yourself in school. It's safer that way, isn't it? They can't be disappointed if you're already a disappointment.’

Puck’s co-workers had turned around and were staring. Kurt’s voice deliberately carried across the room. Deadly, calm, almost lacking all emotional inflection. There was just the barest hint of cutting scorn. Puck wanted to shut him up. But he was frozen, because Kurt had never been this ruthless or vicious to him before.

‘I can just see you at sixteen,’ and his cool voice told them all—the entire _fucking_ department was listening—exactly how he felt about that. ‘Shoving kids into lockers, fucking cheerleaders in the backseat of your car, charming your teachers just so that you’d squeak by, hell maybe fucking some of them too.’ 

Somebody snickered, but a harsh voice told that person to shut up. Nobody made a move to stop Kurt. Probably because nobody dared. Puck felt like he’d walked into an alternative reality; like one of those nightmares where you end up naked in front of a crowd. It was similar – Kurt was exposing him to the entire department; all his little secrets and his secret fears. Things he hadn’t _told_ anyone. He should make a move to stop him, but he couldn’t.

‘All the while pretending you weren’t terrified that the second you got out into the real world everyone would find out what a fake you were. Your dad left you when you were eight, maybe nine?’ Kurt looks at him, speculating. ‘Young enough that there's still that part of you, that scared little boy that hopes if you catch enough bad guys he might come back someday. You're such a cliché, Detective Puckerman.'

By the end of Kurt’s longwinded speech, the surprise had worn off. Puck was shaking with rage. His hands were balled into fists so tightly that he was bleeding. The roaring in his ears overpowered any reasonable thought. He was stalking forward when two people grabbed hold of him. Nobody wanted to see him suspended over this. But Kurt had the gall to not even look nervous, despite the fact that Puck could have turned him into a stain on the carpet. He looked like he could have fought Puck and like he probably would have won.

Kurt walked by him and turned to look at him momentarily. There was nothing going on behind those eyes. Puck felt a chill. It looked like Kurt wanted to say something; spew some more venom at him. But he didn’t. He just left. Somehow it made Puck feel worse.

More embarrassing was that the detective Kurt had been talking to was not a member of their precinct, Puck now realised. He was here to see if their case might have interstate correlations. His name was Finn Hudson or something. Puck hadn’t entirely been listening; too distracted by Kurt’s presence. But Finn Hudson or whatever had stood listening and gaping. Puck felt the blood rising into his face.

The other detective seemed to come out of his shock. He seemed to be in a hurry to reach Puck. Unintentionally he towered over Puck, once he reached him; he was just too freaking tall. His narrow eyes were shining with concern.

‘Shit, are you okay?’ he asked worriedly. ‘Dude, I’ve never seen him go off like that on anybody. Not since high school.’

Puck waved off his concern angrily.

‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘Just Hummel being his usual prissy self.’ It registered then what the guy had said. ‘You knew him in high school?’

‘Yeah,’ the man said. ‘Kind of hard not to, considering he’s my stepbrother.’

* * *

Detective Finn Hudson was a very friendly man, even if he was a little dim. He asked Puck out for drinks to apologise for his step-brother’s actions. It was like the guy had nice as his default setting. He was so nice that Puck was ashamed that he wasn’t better company at the moment. Finn was a lightweight, though. After just one beer his tongue loosened so much for two people who had just met it was awkward. Soon Puck knew more about his life story than he wanted to know.

He got a phone call and disappeared to answer it. Puck took the opportunity to get another beer. He thought he might hit the hard liquor next. God, Kurt was such a fucking bitch. How on _earth_ had he known? How had he seen through Puck like that? It was so fucking spooky that he could hardly believe it had happened. Spooky Hummel, more fitting than Ice Princess. And yes, he had pushed him into a corner, but had it really warranted _that_? How could he walk into the precinct tomorrow and pretend that nothing had happened?

Finn got back just as Puck told the bartender to bring a bottle of scotch and leave it. The other man looked upset and, dare he say it, pouty. He threw himself into the seat and helped himself to the scotch. They matched each other drink for drink until they were both plastered.

‘She blames me, you know,’ Finn murmured. ‘Rachel. She says it’s my fault that Kurt is this way. Maybe she’s right. He wasn’t like this before.’

‘Oh?’ Puck tried to raise an eyebrow inquiringly, but he had a feeling he started to look cross-eyed instead. ‘What was he like?’

‘He was prissy, alright. And if somebody threatened his clothes,’ Finn smiled slightly, ‘you would get an earful. He always used words I didn’t understand. But he didn’t hide what he was. He was proud of it. He was a good friend. And he could sing. Sure, he sang like a girl, but it was good. Even Rachel admitted that he had talent.’

He frowned. ‘I didn’t intend for anything to happen. I didn’t mean for things to get screwed up.’

‘What did you do?’ Puck asked and took a swig straight from the bottle.

He kind of doubted that it was as bad as to fall in love with a frigid ice bitch.

‘… ptwithhim,’ the other detective murmured.

‘What did you say?’

‘Isleptwithhim,’ Finn repeated and did it again with a groan at Puck’s confused look. ‘I _slept_ with him, okay? I had sex with him.’

Puck choked. What did Finn say? He must have misheard. Finn sleeping with Kurt was laughable. The guy was impossibly straight. He was head over heels with his girlfriend, sure, (it was kind of obvious by the way he kept saying ‘Rachel said’ and ‘Rachel did’) but he still ogled everything with boobs in sight.

‘We got drunk! It was just before college and we got plastered!’ Finn blurted out defensively. ‘So fucking plastered that I can’t remember a thing of that night. But we were in bed together and I was still inside of him … and God, it was so fucking messed up! He’d had this crush on me for years. It was kind of how our parents got together; he set them up to get closer to me.’

And that was fucking creepy, Puck thought. Kurt really was a twisted bitch.

‘He said he was over me,’ Finn continued. ‘But he still got that look, you know? And I had sex with him. I panicked. I freaked out. I threw him out of bed and told him to get out. It was his room. I told him he was disgusting and I never wanted to see him again.

‘We left for college. He came back changed. He was cold and mean. He never showed emotion. Worst of all was his clothes. He dressed almost normal. He toned himself down. He became a psychology major instead of a fashion major. His life changed and it really wasn’t for the better.’

Puck listened. He realised that this was the moment that had changed Kurt. Had made him into the man that Puck had fallen for. It made him gleeful, because it made Kurt into a cliché too. He and Finn drank until they were cut off and then they stumbled out. They had to support each other and Puck, who tolerated slightly more than Finn, got the other into a cab. That Hudson dude was cool.

He decided to take a stroll. Afterward, when he felt ashamed of himself, he tried to tell himself that he wasn’t intentionally walking towards Kurt’s apartment complex. Of course, that would be lying to himself. He was reeling from the information Finn had fed him. The glee inside of him itched and he wanted to rub it in Kurt’s face. He wanted to see him humiliated for once, since he held onto control with an iron grip.

Before he could stop himself, he was knocking on Kurt’s door. Neighbours came to their doors and told him to shut the fuck up. The glare he sent them made them shut their doors quick-smart. Maybe they’d even called the police. Why should he care? He was the police. Even if he was off duty. He doubted they’d haul him off to the station for this.

‘Do you fucking mind?!’ Kurt snapped when he opened the door. ‘People are trying to sleep.’

He was in his pyjamas. The silk shirt was slightly too big and showed off the bite marks that littered his neck. It hurt to see those, knowing that somebody else had touched Kurt. His eyes were unfocused and sleepy. It seemed like he didn’t recognise Puck at first. He reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes and the sleeve slid down. The rope burns sealed it for Puck. Now he really wanted to hurt Kurt.

‘Puck?’ Kurt asked in disbelief. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Puck said with a shark’s smile. ‘Just in the neighbourhood and thought I’d stop by.’

He raked his gaze over Kurt’s silk–clad body and raised an eyebrow suggestively. Kurt didn’t flush, but he did cross his arms over his chest. Puck had him at a disadvantage considering that he was dressed while Kurt was only clad in his pyjamas. 

The profiler seemed conflicted, before stepping out of his apartment and closing the door behind him. His voice was soft when he said, ‘I want you to leave. Now. Right now. Leave.’

‘Why?’ Puck asked. ‘Got yourself a new loser in there to use and abuse and throw away when you don’t need them anymore?’

Kurt flushed. Puck took delight in this and crowded him against the door. Kurt didn’t flinch or back down, but he was tense against Puck’s body. There was somebody inside of the apartment and Kurt didn’t want that someone to hear this.

‘I had a nice little chat with Finn,’ Puck crowed. ‘The man can’t hold his liquor, so he told me a few interesting things.’

Kurt blanched. He was normally pale, but now he looked almost grey. The door and Puck’s body seemed to be the only things holding him up.

‘He told me how you slept together and how he freaked out the morning after. You never spoke of it again. It was the moment that changed everything,’ he said, more to himself than to Kurt. ‘But is that really it? Seems kind of small to fuck somebody up this much.’

Kurt looked down and wouldn’t meet his eyes. He seemed speechless. The great Kurt Hummel didn’t have anything to say. It made Puck laugh harshly and lean in closer. Kurt was vibrating with tension beneath him.

‘Really? That’s what did it? That’s what turned you into this robot?’ the bigger man snarled. ‘Pathetic.’

‘Are you done?’ Kurt asked and his voice quivered ever so slightly. ‘I have better things to do.’

‘No, I’m not done, _Kurt_ ,’ Puck said viciously. ‘I could go on all night about how pathetic you are. Because, face it, you’re a self loathing, emotionally fucked up closet case who has wasted half of your life _pining_ after some straight boy who’s never going to look twice at you.’

He greatly relished being able to throw back Kurt’s words in his face, ‘You’re such a fucking _cliché_ , Hummel.’

There was movement on the other side of the door. If possible, Kurt grew even more tense. But the person on the other side of the door didn’t open it. Instead there came a soft, tentative voice from the other end of it, ‘Kurt, are you okay?’

It was a woman’s voice. It threw Puck completely off balance. It was just enough for Kurt to regain control again. His face was just as blank and cold as ever. Only a slight tremble to his hand betrayed his emotional turmoil, when he stroked back a piece of hair from his forehead.

‘I’m fine, Mercedes,’ he called out to the person in his apartment. ‘Noah was just leaving.’

Puck looked into the pretty eyes and realised that yes, he was. Or Kurt would go into his apartment, get his gun and shoot him. He’d never seen the profiler angry like this. Even when he’d torn him apart in front of a crowd just hours ago. This was even colder and more vicious. He tried to hide his sudden apprehension (geez, Kurt was decidedly unstable) behind bravado.

‘Just thought I’d even the score,’ he said.

Kurt made a toss with his head and the unspoken threat in his stance made Puck leave quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published unbeta'd in my LJ: May 29th 2011.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Fire and Ice 3/3  
>  **Fandom:** Glee  
>  **Beta:** [david_of_oz](http://david-of-oz.livejournal.com)  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Kurt, Puck, Tanaka, Mercedes, Finn, Rachel, Puck/Kurt  
>  **Warnings:** OOC due to circumstances crucial to the fic, bondage, dirty talk, humiliation, non-graphic discussion of murders, non-graphic discussion about sexual assault and murder of children (can still be triggery), language.  
>  **Word count:** 1899/7823 words  
>  **Prompt:** Written for this prompt, which is a story in itself, at the glee_kink_meme.  
>  **Summary:** Puck is the homicide detective stumped by a case. Kurt is the FBI profiler the department decides to consult. Their feud is legendary, but nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors...  
>  **a/n:** If you're afraid to read WIP:s by me, you should know that all parts of this is finished. Concrit is welcome! On Santana: I wrote large part of this pre-season 2, so some revelations about my girl Santana won't be in here.

  


**Fire and Ice**

_Some say the world will end in fire  
Some say it will end in ice   
From what I've tasted of desire   
I hold with those who favour fire   
But if it had to perish twice   
I know enough of hate   
that destruction of ice is also great   
and would suffice._

Finn transferred to Puck’s department just a week after that. If he’d spoken to Kurt since, he made no mention. But Puck got the feeling that they didn’t talk to each other if they could help it. He certainly wasn’t going to bring it up with Kurt’s stepbrother who was a freaking giant. Instead he tried to forget about Kurt and threw himself into his cases.

It was easy at first. Most of their murders were open and shut cases; the domestics turned murders, the drug deals gone bad … the simple cases. Cases which could be solved by good old-fashioned police work. Finn had been assigned as Puck’s partner and they worked well together. They had an impressive solving rate. There really was no need to call in the FBI.

In fact, it took almost a year before they needed a consult. The case was so horrific that Puck would have worked with anybody to solve it. A four-year-old had been torn apart, almost literally. There were signs of a particularly sadistic sexual assault and a suspicion that his eight-year-old brother, who also was missing, might be with the same man.

They had DNA and hairs (some matching the brother’s). Problem was that the DNA wasn’t on file. The pressure was hard and the public outcry was loud, which made them all the more desperate when no leads had yielded results five days into the investigation. The brass had made the call to the FBI and Puck would kiss Hummel’s shoes when he arrived.

Only, it wasn’t Hummel who came. Instead it was a tiny brunette called Rachel Berry, who had a grating voice. She was good at her job, but she wasn’t Kurt Hummel. She didn’t have his almost supernatural ability to read a killer immediately; she had to consult studies and her books. It made Puck itch with impatience. He wanted it solved now.

It didn’t help that she apparently was the Rachel Finn had mentioned and that they were nauseatingly sweet to each other. They were acting completely ridiculous. How anybody could think about romance during a case like this, was beyond Puck’s understanding. He himself hadn’t slept more than three hours a night since he read the autopsy report. His subconscious made him dream of the torture the little boy had gone through. He could hear him screaming and see it happening, but he was always too far away to stop the monster from slitting his throat so violently he almost decapitated him.

Eventually Rachel managed to piece together a profile that pointed them to their killer. It turned out to be the older neighbour, who hadn’t seemed like he could hurt a fly. The eight-year-old was alive. But there was no way in hell the kid would ever be able to return to a normal life. He was so traumatised that he barely reacted to their presence, unless they touched him. Then he screamed and begged. Nobody outside the soundproofed cellar had been able to hear him. Puck had been forced to leave, because he had to throw up.

Normally, closing a case made him feel triumphant and invincible. This time, however … The baby-butcher would get his, sure. He’d probably be killed in prison. But that didn’t help the kid, who had lived through at least two weeks of the worst possible torture.

Puck bought a case of beer and settled down at his kitchen table. He didn’t want to dream tonight. Not when he’d seen the damage so clearly. He cracked open the first bottle and drained it in a matter of seconds. He grabbed another one and kept at it. All he wanted was to be so drunk that he would pass out and not remember the case.

He was working on his third bottle, when the door to his apartment opened. It was possible that he was hallucinating, because why else would Kurt Hummel be bustling into his kitchen with a couple of bags? He was sure that he’d locked the door. Only Finn had a key to his place. When they had first became partners, they’d exchanged keys in case anything happened to them.

Kurt swooped down and grabbed his bottle. He started dumping out the alcohol, while Puck was still too bewildered to do more than cry ‘hey!’ at the loss of his beer.

‘Don’t be the four beers with dinner cop cliché, Noah. You’re so much better than that.’

Puck just gaped at him. 

‘What are you doing here?’ he managed to say after a while. ‘How the fuck did you get in?’

‘Finn gave me the key at Rachel’s insistence,’ Kurt shrugged. ‘She felt that you needed somebody to look after you.’

He raked his eyes critically down Puck’s body. ‘I fear she was right. Good God, Noah, go take a shower! When was the last time you had one? You reek!’

Puck fumed, but did as he was told. He couldn’t dispute that the warm water felt nice on his body.

When Puck came back out from his shower, the entire apartment smelled of lasagne. He inhaled deeply and suddenly felt ravenous. He got dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt without bothering with socks. He followed the smell into the kitchen. Kurt was heating up lasagne from plastic containers. He started when he noticed Puck in the doorway. For a moment he looked awkward and unsure, before he turned around the put the steaming food on plates.

‘Mercedes was cooking when we heard that the case had been wrapped up,’ he said with a quick glance at Puck and pinking slightly when he continued. ‘She told me to, quotation marks, take care of my man and make sure he was fed.’

Puck settled down at the table and Kurt placed the food in front of him. It surprised him that Kurt didn’t ask about the paper plates (truth was that Puck couldn’t be bothered to do the dishes; if he ate off regular plates, they would stand in the sink until the left-over food became sentient).

The food smelled delicious. But he wasn’t sure he could eat. Yeah, sure, his stomach was growling in hunger. But he also had the disgusting images from the last couple of days haunting his mind. They made his stomach turn.

‘Who’s Mercedes?’ he asked to distract himself.

He recalled the name from when he had confronted Kurt at his apartment. It was his turn to flush.

‘My best friend from high school, flat mate, therapist, the only one who calls me on my crap,’ Kurt said with a shy smile.

It was the first time that Puck had seen him smile this smile and it was cute. He couldn’t call it beautiful or sexy, because it wasn’t. It was just … cute. Like a kitten. And Puck could swear that his brain was degenerating by the second and wished he could shut it up. Kurt brandished his fork at him.

‘Eat,’ he said somewhat sternly. ‘I’m half convinced that Mercedes is psychic and she will _cut_ you if you don’t eat this food she’s lovingly prepared.’

Puck lifted his own fork reluctantly. He hesitantly picked at it, before starting to eat. Before he knew it he had wolfed it all down, as well as the seconds that Kurt heated up with a subtle smirk. He could swear that this Mercedes woman was a culinary goddess. Kurt seemed to be amused by it, even if he seemed just as awkward and stilted in his amusement as he did in everything else. He seemed to be unsure of what to do.

‘Wait,’ Puck said after finishing the last of the lasagne with pleasure, ‘how did you know that the case was closed?’

Kurt gave him his patented “are you actually this dense?” look. Glad to see that some things didn’t change.

‘Rachel is in the BAU,’ he enounced slowly. ‘She’s one of two women in a unit of twenty-eight people. I’m the only openly gay man, which makes it particularly ironic that you called me a closet case. We talk. She called me to talk about the case. She had my stepbrother to gain comfort from, while you’d be alone. Most likely drinking yourself into a stupor and avoiding going to sleep.’

Puck hated profilers. He really did. You couldn’t keep any secrets from them. Kurt laughed at the look at his face; it was a high–pitched, awkward laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. There wasn’t a comment as to what had made him laugh, but Kurt made him go to bed soon afterward. Kurt must have noticed the look of panic on his face, because his facial expression softened.

‘I don’t know if I can sleep,’ Puck said honestly. ‘I keep dreaming.’

Kurt’s solution to the problem was to slide in between the sheets with Puck. He spooned him from behind. They slept in the same bed, just sleeping. And Puck didn’t have a single dream during the night.

He almost did have a heart attack when he woke up, though. Kurt wasn’t spooning him anymore. In fact, it didn’t feel like there was anyone in bed with him at all. He threw off the covers almost violently. The fucking bitch couldn’t have left him. Could he? Was Kurt really that emotionally fucked up that he would leave after a night like that? It had seemed to Puck like it had meant something. Maybe it hadn’t meant anything to Kurt. Maybe it had been another game.

His thoughts came to an abrupt end when he noticed a startled movement in the corner of his eyes.

‘Do you always wake up like that?’ Kurt asked and held a hand to his heart.

He’d been sitting at the edge of the bed; just looking at him. Puck was just too relieved that he hadn’t left to say anything. Kurt’s eyes flickered and he picked at his sleeve. He looked awkward and shy. The ice bitch of the past seemed to have left him.

‘It was my first time,’ he said. ‘Sleeping next to somebody. Without having had sex first, I mean. The first time I did that was with Finn.’ He bit his lip. ‘This is preferable to being yelled at and accused of rape, I think.’

He was rambling. Puck was too dumbstruck to stop him. The night before and today seemed entirely too surreal to actually be happening. He pinched himself to check that he wasn’t dreaming. It hurt, so he guessed not. Kurt, in his consternation, didn’t notice. He kept wringing his hands.

‘My first time was with Finn and it wasn’t … ideal,’ he said, which was Kurt–speak for “fucked up”. ‘Mercedes said that the first time we have sex affects our entire future sexual history. And you’re right, I’m fucked up and cold and frigid and I don’t know how to get off by having sex like a normal human being.’

Puck decided to stop him before he could work himself up too much.

‘Kurt, shut up. It doesn’t have to be complicated. Did you like it?’

Kurt ducked his head, looking awkward and shy again.

‘Yes, very much so. I think …’ He hesitated. ‘I think I might want to try this whole being human thing. If we could?’

Puck covered Kurt’s hand with his own.

Maybe they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published in my LJ: June 4th 2011.


End file.
